


in the back pocket of your jeans

by darlathecyborgpluviophile



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Deviant Connor, Fear of Death, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Missing Scene, PTSD, Panic Attacks, Pre-Relationship, Stratford Tower, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:47:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28033398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darlathecyborgpluviophile/pseuds/darlathecyborgpluviophile
Summary: In the short time he’s known him, Connor has been nothing if not unflappable. There might as well be an entirely different android in front of him – big eyes, open mouth, heaving chest.
Relationships: Hank Anderson/Connor
Comments: 4
Kudos: 76





	in the back pocket of your jeans

**Author's Note:**

> title probably doesn't make much sense out of context, but it's from the vienna teng song "Say Uncle":
> 
> you kept fear of death/in the back pocket of your jeans
> 
> uwu

“Connor.”

No response. He just keeps staring at the body at his feet, chest heaving.

“Connor!” Hank barks, putting a hand on Connor’s shoulder to drag him away from the dead android. He flinches at the sudden contact.

Hank whirls around with his partner in tow. The Feds fanned out across the roof stand like statues, guns out and pointed directly at the two of them.

“All right, all right, enough of this shit!” Hank shouts, switching his grasp from Connor’s shoulder to the crook of his arm. “Get outta here, show’s over! Let us through.”

The soldiers relax, clearing a path for the two of them back inside. The snow is falling harder now, sticking to Hank’s hair, the fur of his coat. Connor is still silent – Hank looks back to see if he’s even awake, but sure enough, those brown eyes are open wider than he’s ever seen them.

He wrenches the door to the stairwell back open, and looks around just long enough to spot a small maintenance closet with the door ajar, shoved into the corner of the landing. He drags Connor along with him and into the cramped space, slamming the door shut behind them. The closet’s central light is turned on with an old-fashioned pullcord, illuminating brooms, brushes, mops, chemical cleaners, and one shaking android.

Hank hesitates for a moment. In the short time he’s known him, Connor has been nothing if not unflappable. There might as well be an entirely different android in front of him – big eyes, open mouth, heaving chest. Somehow, he looks even paler than usual.

“Jesus, Connor,” Hank breathes. “What the fuck happened back there?”

For the first time in several minutes Connor actually moves of his own volition, shifting his gaze to the floor, eyes darting back and forth between two imaginary spots.

“I don’t know,” Connor stammers, and it sounds fucking weird coming out of his mouth, like his vocal processor is glitching out. “I d-don’t know-w.”

Hank crouches and angles his head up, trying to meet Connor’s shaky gaze. Those brown eyes briefly flit to his, then scurry away again. He forces himself to be the grounded one, for once. He takes a deep breath.

“You said you saw it die.”

“I saw it die,” Connor repeats, voice barely above a whisper. His artificial breathing picks up, combined with a quiet drone that sounds eerily like a fan of some kind. “God. Oh, god.”

Too suddenly and he’s moving, grasping Hank’s right wrist with the sort of vice-like grip only an android can muster.

“I didn’t know,” Connor starts, and the rest of the words tumble out in an uncharacteristic rush. “I didn’t know that’s what it was like. I didn’t know, Hank, I promise, I had no idea –”

“Hey, hey.” Hank reaches his left hand awkwardly over, crawling over Connor’s wrist and pressing against his fingers. Fucking hell, they’re cold. “I dunno what the fuck you’re talking about, but you don’t gotta promise me anything. I believe you.”

“I didn’t – I didn’t know –”

“It’s fine, son.” He presses against Connor’s fingers, hard, and the android’s grip relents a little. “No one’s gonna hurt you here. It’s just us.”

Connor’s gaze stops flickering, settling guiltily in the corner of the closet behind Hank’s right. The LED in his temple pulses red, like blood pumping. Like a heartbeat.

“I didn’t know it could _hurt_ ,” Connor whispers. The strength remaining in his grip loosens, his hand sliding down Hank’s arm. For the first time, their eyes meet.

Hank hasn’t been sure of much in his life since the accident, the divorce. But right now, he knows beyond the shadow of a doubt that Connor is _alive_.

And almost as if Connor can read his thoughts, he yanks away from Hank’s arm and backs away, tripping over a mop bucket and trying to make himself as small as he can in the sudden, yawning void of the maintenance closet.

“No,” he says, LED now flickering _red-yellow-red-yellow_. “No. I can’t be.”

“Connor,” Hank tries.

“No!” he shouts, bowing his head and covering his ears. The sight reminds Hank so much of two-year-old Cole that it physically hurts. “They’re going to deactivate me.”

“That’s not gonna happen.” Hank lowers himself further to the ground, kneeling awkwardly now amidst the cleaning supplies.

“Lieutenant, you have no authority over the decisions made at CyberLife –”

“Fuck CyberLife. They’re not gonna fuckin' touch you. Do you hear me?”

Connor blinks, slowly. His hands loosen against his ears.

“You don’t know that, Lieutenant,” Connor says, and by god is he trying to make his voice sound normal.

“Yeah, well, I fucking know that if they’re gonna try and get you they’re gonna have to go through me.” Hank reaches out, forcefully grasping one of Connor’s hands in his own. “You got that?”

Connor’s chest is still heaving, in fear, or in exertion, or in an attempt to cool down his internal systems, Hank doesn’t know. His gaze steadies, though. His LED is a peculiar gradient of blue and yellow.

“I…may understand. Possibly.”

Connor squeezes Hank’s hand, and that’s all the confirmation he needs.


End file.
